


Close To You

by Banashee



Series: 65 Random Prompts [26]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Clint Barton Gets a Hug, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Cold Weather, Cuddling & Snuggling, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Flashbacks, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Huddling For Warmth, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Insecurity, Love Confessions, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mutual Pining, Overthinking, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Relationship, Protective Phil Coulson, Safehouses, Sharing a Bed, Snowed In, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-15 11:02:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29558130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Banashee/pseuds/Banashee
Summary: Phil and Clint are snowed in in a safehouse after an unsuccessful mission. The cold bothers Clint, because it brings back many unpleasant memories and old trauma. Thankfully, he's got Phil to keep him warm - even though he wishes he'd love him back.It takes a rough night and careful talking for them to finally get it together.-This was supposed to be all cute and fluffy with just a smidge h/c. But if you know me, you won't be surprised to hear that I knocked over the angst bucket. Again.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Phil Coulson
Series: 65 Random Prompts [26]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1606429
Comments: 16
Kudos: 61





	Close To You

**Author's Note:**

> Another prompt list thingy with my dear friend @banana_ink.  
> Full prompt list can be found here:  
> https://banashee.tumblr.com/post/190342596571/65-random-writing-prompts

****

**Close To You**

Clint all but kicks open the door to the safe house, shuffling in as fast as humanly possible while he curses up a blue storm. The door falls shut behind him just as fast as he opened it, and while he kicks off his wet, snow crusted boots in the hallway, Clint curses some more - because he can and because he really, really hates being cold. As it is, he spent most of the week in a perch, high up and in the elements, only to find out _today_ that their Intel had been shit, so he'd listened to Phil explain and try his best not to curse on an open comm-line. He's a professional, but goddammit, this was a waste of time and for nothing. 

Clint, however, has no such qualms about cursing on an open line. In fact, he'd done so the entire way back to their safe house and Phil can hardly blame him for it. He is well aware of how much his asset - best friend - hates cold weather and he knows the reasons for it. This is not an issue of an agent being a primadonna, it's old injuries and cold-related trauma of an unkind life. 

Phil understands, and he is genuinely sorry that things have turned out that way. The least he can do is crank the heat up in the whole house and put the towel and change of clothes over the heater for Clint.

The agent in question shuffles past Phil on his way to the bathroom, shivering, wet and miserable. 

"Hey."

"Hi. Do you want to eat when you're done? I'll heat something up while you shower."

That does stop Clint, just for a second. He nods.

"That would be great - thanks." 

As soon as the bathroom door falls shut, Phil is already in the kitchen. This safehouse is, as far as SHIELD standard goes, pretty nice and well equipped. The pantry is full, and so are the fridge and freezer. It is a nice change from living on nothing but MREs and shitty coffee when they're headed out. 

While Phil is standing by the stove, stirring in a pot of broccoli cheese soup from the day before, he can look out the window. 

The chill from outside is creeping inside, and the landscape around them is covered in sparkly white. Snowflakes are falling as the wind howls around them - the sound alone makes Phil shiver, and he is glad that he could set his office up in here. Not so much luck for Clint though - the poor guy had spent 12 hours a day for a whole week out there, sitting in a tree and growing more and more quiet, which is unusual for him. Normally, he'd chew Phil's ear off about whatever comes to his mind, just to focus on something while staring at literally nothing. But on this mission, the colder it had gotten, the more quiet he grew. 

For a change, Phil had started talking to him over their private line, telling him anything and everything he felt like, just to take his mind off of things. And if the occasional hum or short answer had reassured him that the young agent was still okay out there, well, it was an added bonus. 

As soon as the water shuts off in the bathroom, Phil can hear a groan and a muffled

"Fuuuuck yes." from behind the door - he smiles. It sounds like Clint found the warmed up clothes. 

Phil turns off the stove and keeps stirring the soup on the rest of the heat until the other agent arrives in the kitchen, dressed in clean and most of all warm clothes. On his way into the other room, he sniffs the air and smiles a little bit. Hot soup is an amazing idea just about now. He is still feeling cold, despite almost boiling himself in the shower. 

Clint takes the offered bowl and spoon and sits down with Phil. 

"Thanks, you're the best." he tells him, and he means that. After years of working together and building a close friendship, Clint doesn't know what he would do without Phil in his life. Literally - he probably wouldn't be alive if it wasn't for him. 

"You're welcome. I'm sorry the mission went like this. We'll have to wait out the snow storm, too. I checked in with HQ earlier." Phil replies, shaking his head. It is what it is, but he is always annoyed when a mission is a bust. Especially when his asset is freezing his ass off in a perch for no reason after all.

"Honestly, as long as I can stay warm I really don't give a shit." Clint shrugs, and pushes his empty bowl away from him, leaning back in his chair, eyes closed for a moment. 

"You will. None of us will be going anywhere until we're picked up - not sure when this is going to happen, but it's likely going to be a few days. Maybe closer to a week, depending on the weather."

Clint hums, indicating he is listening. 

"How about food? Are we stocked up for that long?" 

"We're fine. Fresh food will last for another three days, non-perishables are stocked for at least three more weeks from then."

Phil tells him this in detail, despite both of them having checked upon arrival. He knows Clint, knows he needs the reassurance that they'll last here when they can't leave due to the weather. It has been cold and wet the entire time, but the snow storm is only just beginning. As if on cue, another burst of wind is howling around the small, wooden house. 

Nodding, Clint gets up to gather their empty plates and starts to put them into the dishwasher - he is so glad that they have one. He really doesn’t feel like doing them by hand. 

“You want coffee? I’ll make some, or I’ll fall asleep in no time.” he asks Phil, who is washing the empty pot in the sink. 

“Yes, I’d like that.” But when he looks up, he can see the slight tremors that are still running through Clint. 

“Okay, wait. You look like you’re still freezing. Go warm up on the couch, I’ll get the coffee.”

“‘s fine, you don’t have to.” Clint mumbles, not looking at Phil. Even now, after so many years he isn’t really used to being treated with more than basic human decency at best, let alone being used to being taken care of.

“Clint.” slowly, Phil reaches out and places a hand on the other man’s wrist. The skin is cold under his touch, and now he can not only see but also feel the shaking. Subconsciously, his thumb is stroking up and down in a soothing motion. 

“Go warm up.” Phil repeats, firm yet gentle in that way that is quite unique to him, and this time, Clint doesn’t protest.

“Thanks.” he says quietly, then shuffles off to the living room. 

When Phil joins him a few minutes later, Clint has buried himself under at least two blankets. He silently accepts the mug of coffee and holds up a corner of the pile for Phil to slip under. 

They’re off-duty, and there is no reason to keep up any protocol now. In the field, they’re professional, but otherwise, there is no reason to keep distance. Amongst working close to one another for years and a quickly developing friendship, the two of them have been home to each other for a long time now. It’s not surprising, given how much time the two of them spend around each other, in any context.

As they drink their coffee in silence, Clint slowly slumps against Phil. He is still shaking, despite the warm house, hot drink in his hands and the warm body of a friend nearby. 

Phil places his mug on the coffee table and slowly wraps an arm around Clint, giving him the opportunity to pull away if he wants to. He doesn’t lean away. On the contrary, he leans into the touch and shuffles closer. 

“Are you alright?” It is a stupid question, since the answer is likely “no”, but it is an opening that works most times. The offer to listen is heavily implied, after all.

For a long time, Clint remains silent, but when he has finished his coffee, he places the mug next to the other, empty one and shuffles back under the warm blankets. His skin is still cool to the touch, and it worries Phil. 

“Not really.” he says in regard to the question, and pauses for a bit. Then, he shakes his head in defeat.

“I’m frustrated that this whole thing was a bust. Sitting out in the freezing weather for a week with no result just sucks… Gives me way too much time to think. You know the shit I’m talking about.” he adds, clearly unwilling to go into the details again.

Phil knows. He still remembers the files and most of all the personal conversations, which took place in pretty similar circumstances to now - quiet, private moments when the hard times hit. Being alone together in a safehouse or either of their apartments. 

SHIELD has their ways to find out a lot of things. They collect data about people and their lives, but they have no way to access memories and feelings, not unless either of it is shared by the people themselves.

Over the years, he’s learned a lot about his asset and friend - mostly that he doesn’t trust easily and the fact that Phil knows these things in the first place are a near-miracle. A sure sign of trust that is precious to him. 

  
  


A childhood spent in poverty, surrounded by violence and fear. Living in houses, apartments and trailers with no heat, living on the streets. That is the sanitized version of Clint’s former life, anyway. 

Being cold, it brings back all of those memories. It makes old injuries ache and overall, leaves Clint miserable. 

Spending the better part of a week out in freezing wind and snow was bound to be trouble.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Phil asks, wishing, not for the first time, that he could go back in time to kill a few people.

“Just - stay?” 

“Of course.” As if there was a possibility he’d say no to this. 

As it turns out, “stay” means stay. 

The fireplace is on, crackling in the background as the sun goes down outside, until the landscape is only lit up by the moon and stars. The light is reflecting off of the snow, and it looks beautiful - the chill of the wind is still creeping inside though. Slowly but surely, the snow gets higher and higher, and there is a pretty good possibility that they’ll be snowed in by the time they wake up tomorrow.

Their conversation is slow and quiet - despite the caffeine, exhaustion is about to pull them under. 

“We should move. This couch is a back-killer.” 

“...In a minute. You’re warm...” It doesn’t sound like Clint plans on getting up any time soon. In fact, he holds onto Phil just a bit more tightly. 

In all those years, Phil has learned that “You’re warm.” is pretty much code for “Please don’t leave me alone.” because Clint would never ask this, at least not outright. 

Right now, Phil knows, he is lost in thoughts, exhausted and in pain. No matter how warm the room, Clint probably feels like he is still freezing. 

“Hey. I’m not going anywhere unless you want me to. Bed’s big enough for both of us - minus the sore back.” Phil offers, and is relieved at the nod he gets in response. 

This is far from the first time the two of them are sharing a bed. It’s the nature of safehouses sometimes, when there is little to no space or when the couch that was supposed to serve as a second bed is either moldy or way too short - it happens. 

Sleeping together is not an issue, but some nights, when they are curled up next to each other, later around each other because it is more comfortable, it is hard to keep the emotions in check.

In moments like this, Phil thinks he should just say something. Tell Clint how he feels, but it always seems wrong. The rumor mill says they’ve been an item for ages - if it wasn’t so sad, Phil would laugh. he fucking _wishes_ he and Clint were an item. But he remains silent because he doesn’t want to lose the hard earned trust and friendship. Even more so, he doesn’t want to take either of these things away from Clint, just in case a romantic relationship isn’t what he wants.

Right now though, Clint is as close as humanly possible to Phil. Their arms are wrapped around one another, legs tangled and they’re almost close enough to share a bit of breath. 

Moments like this feel intimate and incredibly precious. 

Part of Clint is longing for more, but then again, what if he messes up their friendship? 

Some nights, like now, when he can be this close to Phil, or in the field, when they keep each other going despite all odds, it only seems natural to love him. Or when they share days like today in comforting silence, Clint thinks - hopes - that maybe, just maybe, Phil might love him back just as much. He’s too afraid to ask or say something. 

Part of Clint is still convinced that he doesn’t deserve love, or a partner who sees more in him than something to use for their own gain and pleasure. Although he knows that if a relationship with Phil was an option, things would be widely different than they used to - different than what Clint is used to. But risking their friendship - the best thing to ever happen to him - is impossible. 

The thoughts seem to run away with him again, and Clint sighs unhappily. Blunt nails start scratching the nape of his neck, steady and gentle. He melts into the touch, unable to find any words, even if he wanted to. 

“Clint. Talk to me, please.”

The request is so quiet and filled with worry, especially paired with the soft touch, it makes him want to cry. A thick lump is in his throat, and Clint is glad that the room is almost entirely dark, because he isn’t entirely sure if he will be able to hold back the tears. 

“I’m-” he cuts himself off, trying to swallow the lump in his throat and keep breathing as evenly as possible. It takes longer than he wants to, and he faintly realizes that Phil is slowly rubbing his upper arm in an attempt to comfort. Skin on skin, so incredibly warm and soft, even as he shakes apart under it. 

“Just thinking too much.” Clint forces himself to say, attempting to keep his voice as even as possible. It betrays him as it breaks towards the end of the short sentence. 

Despite being wrapped up in a warm bed with multiple blankets and his favourite person in the world, protectively wrapped around him to keep him warm, Clint feels like he is freezing. It’s nothing physical, he knows, but his brain keeps jumping back and forth between scenarios in split seconds.

Hiding from his fathers drunken anger in the middle of january, out in the barn with no jacket or shoes on. 

Hearing Dad yell at Mom because the power has been turned off for days now, conveniently forgetting that he is the one spending every penny they have for alcohol. 

Shivering in the fall air as he stares down onto his parent’s tombstone. 

Running from foster family number 1, 3 and 4, trying to escape more heartbreak and violence. 

Sleeping in the orphanage with no heat on in the dead of winter. 

Shivering and shaking apart under a thin, ripped blanket in a cramped circus trailer that reeks of cigarettes and unwashed bodies. 

Barney looking at him with cold, unmoving eyes as he watches Swordsman kick him to the ground, still in his thin costume as the freezing wind is biting at him and his split open face.

Bleeding on the ice covered concrete floor as the circus leaves him behind. 

Living in the streets, doing whatever he has to do in order to make it through the night.

Being stationed in freezing cold places, his body aching and his mind being clouded with old and painful memories. 

Phil, being close to him, talking calmly and holding him through the struggle, again and again and again. 

_‘You don’t deserve love.’_ the mean voice in the back of his head is telling Clint, keeps him from starting the conversation that is long overdue.

If only… If only.

Phil can feel the steady drip of hot tears into his shirt long before he hears anything, apart from the change in breath. He knows how quiet Clint can be when he wants to, especially when he is trying to hide himself away. 

Something twists up painfully in his chest, like ice cold hands are wrenching his heart as the person he loves most is crying almost soundlessly against him. Clint is desperate and exhausted, and there is nothing Phil can do, besides holding him close, trying to comfort. 

Eventually, he drifts off into a restless sleep and Phil waits, staying awake on purpose as he keeps stroking Clint’s hair in an attempt to soothe. Just in case. 

The wind outside picks up, howling louder and louder as it creeps in through the tiniest cracks and crevices in the wall. 

By the time they wake up, the sun is up but hidden behind dark clouds - It’s not like they could see it from here. Snow covers most of the windows, tinting the room even darker than it already is. 

The storm is still howling around the house, loud and without mercy as ever. It is strong enough to make the doors and windows clatter from it, but thankfully, it is still warm under the covers in bed.

Clint is waking up slowly, eyes gritty and with a massive headache - probably from dehydration. But he finds himself enveloped in a familiar pair of arms as Phil is still wrapped around him, nose buried in his shaggy blond hair. The chill from outside makes Clint shiver, and he burrows closer as the events from last night are slowly creeping back into his mind. Damn it.

He knew the aftermath of this week would be rough, but he hadn’t expected it to be this bad. And despite being warm and safe now, just the knowledge that they’re essentially trapped in here, no matter how well equipped, almost sends Clint spiralling again. 

He doesn’t realize he is shaking until the hands on the back of his shirt and the skin of his arm start rubbing small circles, both in an attempt to comfort and keep him warm. 

Skin on skin contact is nice, and Clint leans into the touch without thinking. If Phil is offering it, he’ll take however much he can. He only wishes there could be more between them, but hoping will only hurt him more in the long run.

“You’re safe. We’re safe.” Phil quietly tells him, again and again while remaining as close as possible until the tremors slowly die down.

“Sorry. I didn’t think I’d be doing this bad.” Clint says after a while, already exhausted despite having just woken up and not even left the bed yet. 

“Not your fault - this is okay. I just wish I could do more to help you.” 

A sad smile creeps onto his face, still hidden from Phil’s view. What Clint wants to say, is something along the lines of “You’re here - that’s more than enough.” but what comes out of his mouth is an almost soundless

“I love you.”

When he realizes what he just said, Clint stiffens up, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Breathing is getting harder and harder as his heart starts hammering violently in his chest. 

_‘You fucked up, you fucked up, you fucked up’_ the voice in his head keeps yelling at him, because he didn’t mean to say this out loud - what follows are stammering apologies as he half expects Phil to pull away from him, but he doesn’t and Clint doesn’t understand why.

There is a good chance the _‘you fucked up’_ mantra doesn’t stay in his head like he intended it to, because Phil is still hugging him, still trying to comfort. He is talking to him, voice calm and even as he carefully combs his fingers through shaggy blond hair. 

“No, you didn’t. I promise you, everything is okay. Breathe, Clint. Keep breathing… Yes, just like this.” Then, after a short while, he carefully asks, 

“Can you look at me, please?”

He does - eyes huge and rimmed red, Clint lifts his head until their gazes meet and Phil gently cups his face in one hand. He looks concerned, but there is also something entirely different in his look.

“You did not fuck anything up.” he repeats, “And nothing needs to change if you don’t want it to, but: I love you, too. I love you a lot.”

Now it is on Clint to look like he suddenly got hit by a train - he can’t believe it.

“You- Uhm.” He seems to be lost for words, but Phil is patient as always - he waits for the answer and remains just where he is. A single stray tear is dripping down his hand and he gently wipes away it’s wet track. 

“Can I - kiss you?” Clint asks eventually, half expecting the answer to be ‘no’ but he gets a warm smile and even warmer “Yes, of course.” as an answer.

Phil waits for Clint to make the first step to close the distance between them, but as soon as their lips meet, he kisses back. 

It is a slow and gentle kiss, nothing heated at all. The feeling is steady, and Clint is almost on top of Phil now, trying to get as close as he possibly can. Fingers are stroking over beard stubble, brushing through already messy hair and holding onto one another. They only stop to get some air, still close enough for their foreheads to touch, and then Phil is leaning in again, holding Clint’s face in both hands as he kisses him, as soft and gentle as he possibly can, putting all the love and care into it. 

There is so much they want to say, so many emotions out in the open, but there are no words to talk about them in detail. Not yet and not now, but both Clint and Phil are perfectly happy to stay in bed for now - it’s not like they need to be anywhere. They keep kissing until they finally settle down again, wrapped around one another and feeling hammering hearts as they are pressed together. 

As much as Clint would love to go back to sleep and stay like this forever, he is almost high on adrenaline now. But he is happy - shaken up and exhausted from too many thoughts and emotions, sure, but nonetheless happy that the seemingly unlikely scenario is true: 

Phil loves him, and they just spent who knows how long kissing each other senseless. He settles down again, face hidden in the crook of Phil’s neck as he presses another kiss there.

“I love you, Phil. A lot.” he tells him, and smiles against his skin when the other man turns slightly, kissing the top of his head as he holds him close.

“I love you, too.”

There is a lot they need to talk about and they know it, but now is not the time. For now, they want to remain close, chasing the cold away as best as they can. By the time they finally get up to make breakfast, they move around each other in the familiar way they have been used to for so long, only with the added bonus of occasional hugs, kisses and holding hands over the table as they wait for the coffee to finish. 

The important thing is that they finally know that their love is very much mutual - they’ll figure out the rest, eventually.

It takes 8 more days until they can leave and return back home, but until then, they pass the time keeping each other warm, in front of the fireplace while reading books or finishing mission reports, always touching in some way, always remaining close to one another. 

At night, when the wind is howling around the wooden house once again, they stay tangled together, skin on skin in as many places as they can possibly touch. Familiar arms around him, gentle kisses and even gentler words of reassurance keep Clint going when the panic hits and the nightmares start again, but it helps to know that he doesn’t have to do this alone. 

Back in New York, on their first morning in the office, Phil finds a purple sticky note on his desk.

 _“We’ve got a dinner reservation tonight - I’ll pick you up at 7”_ it reads, in the familiar messy scrawl that Phil would recognize anywhere. Even if he didn’t, the lopsided heart with an arrow piercing it would make it very clear who wrote the note. Especially since Clint also drew a pair of sunglasses on the heart. 

It makes Phil smile, and a small laugh escapes him at the sight of the tiny masterpiece drawn in place of a signature. 

He is already excited, and when 7pm finally hits, he leaves the building with Clint by his side, who is smiling and overall a lot more relaxed than he had been in the snowed in safehouse. 

His posture is a lot more leaned back and secure. There also is a slight spring in his steps - clearly, Clint is just as excited as Phil, and his blue eyes are no longer bloodshot and dull. They’re sparkling with life, mischief and love, like they should, and Phil’s heart stops for a moment. 

Happiness, genuine happiness suits Clint incredibly well, and Phil would give anything to see him so happy more often. 

Their hands find one another on the way to the car, fingers linked and squeezing gently every now and then. Even though their feelings and relationship are abundantly clear, being on the way to their first proper date is thrilling. Just a bit of normalcy in their usually hectic life. 

Lord knows, they need it - especially if that means they can laugh and flirt and eat out like any other couple would, without any threats or dawning horror lurking in a corner for them.

Right now, they are simply themselves, and most of all: relaxed and head over heels in love with each other. 

  
  
  
  


*+~

Prompt 7: Snowed in

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings:  
> \- Past abuse / past child abuse  
> \- blood mention  
> \- non-graphic violence  
> \- trauma  
> \- mental health issues, insecuriry  
> \- overwhelmed by thoughts and emotions


End file.
